“I could easily have attached myself as a hanger-on of some of my well-to-do relations. Indeed, I will say for them, that they showed the kindest disposition to befriend me; but the position of a dependant would have destroyed every chance of happiness for me, and so I resolved that I would fearlessly throw myself upon the broad ocean of life, and trust that some sea current or favoring wind would bear me at last into a harbor of safety.”
“What can you do?” asked the skipper, curtly.
“Everything, and nothing! I have, so to say, the 'sentiment' of all things in my heart, but am not capable of executing one of them. With the most correct ear, I know not a note of music; and though I could not cook you a chop, I have the most excellent appreciation of a well-dressed dinner.”
“Well,” said he, laughing, “I must confess I don't suspect these to be exactly the sort of gifts to benefit your fellow-man.”
“And yet,” said I, “it is exactly to individuals of this stamp that the world accords its prizes. The impresario that provides the opera could not sing nor dance. The general who directs the campaign might be sorely puzzled how to clean his musket or pipeclay his belt. The great minister who imposes a tax might be totally unequal to the duty of applying its provisions. Ask him to gauge a hogshead of spirits, for instance. My position is like theirs. I tell you, once more, the world wants men of wide conceptions and far-ranging ideas—men who look to great results and grand combinations.”
“But, to be practical, how do you mean to breakfast to-morrow morning?”
“At a moderate cost, but comfortably: tea, rolls, two eggs, and a rumpsteak with fried potatoes.”
“What's your name?” said he, taking out his note-book. “I mustn't forget you when I hear of you next.”
“For the present, I call myself Potts—Mr. Potts, if you please.”
“Write it here yourself,” said he, handing me the pencil. And I wrote in a bold, vigorous hand, “Algernon Sydney-Potts,” with the date.
“Preserve that autograph, Captain,” said I; “it is in no-spirit of vanity I say it, but the day will come you 'll refuse a ten-pound note for it.”
“Well, I'd take a trifle less just now,” said he, smiling.
He sat for some time gravely contemplating the writing, and at length, in a sort of half soliloquy, said, “Bob would like him—he would suit Bob.” Then, lifting his head, he addressed me: “I have a brother in command of one of the P. and O. steamers—just the fellow for you. He has got ideas pretty much like your own about success in life, and won't be persuaded that he isn't the first seaman in the English navy; or that he hasn't a plan to send Cherbourg and its breakwater sky-high, at twenty-four hours' warning.”
“An enthusiast—a visionary, I have no doubt,” said I, contemptuously.
“Well, I think you might be more merciful in your judgment of a man of your own stamp,” retorted he, laughing. “At all events, it would be as good as a play to see you together. If you should chance to be at Malta, or Marseilles, when the Clarence touches there, just ask for Captain Rogers; tell him you know me, that will be enough.”
“Why not give me a line of introduction to him?” said I, with an easy indifference. “These things serve to clear away the awkwardness of a self-presentation.”
“I don't care if I do,” said he, taking a sheet of paper, and beginning 'Dear Bob,'—after which he paused and deliberated, muttering the words 'Dear Bob' three or four times over below his breath.
“'Dear Bob,'” said I aloud, in the tone of one dictating to an amanuensis—“'This brief note will be handed to you by a very valued friend of mine, Algernon Sydney Potts, a man so completely after your own heart that I feel a downright satisfaction in bringing you together.'”
“Well, that ain't so bad,” said he, as he uttered the last words which fell from his pen—“'in bringing you together.'”
“Go on,” said I dictatorially, and continued: “'Thrown by a mere accident myself into his society, I was so struck by his attainments, the originality of his views, and the wide extent of his knowledge of life——' Have you that down?”
“No,” said he, in some confusion; “I am only at 'entertainments.'”
“I said 'attainments,' sir,” said I rebukingly, and then repeating the passage word for word, till he had written it—“'that I conceived for him a regard and an esteem rarely accorded to others than our oldest friends.' One word more: 'Potts, from certain circumstances, which I cannot here enter upon, may appear to you in some temporary inconvenience as regards money——'”
Here the captain stopped, and gave me a most significant look: it was at once an appreciation and an expression of drollery.
“Go on,” said I dryly. “'If so,'” resumed I, “'be guardedly cautious neither to notice his embarrassment nor allude to it; above all, take especial care that you make no offer to remove the inconvenience, for he is one of those whose sensibilities are so fine, and whose sentiments sa fastidious, that he could never recover, in his own esteem, the dignity compromised by such an incident.'”
“Very neatly turned,” said he, as he re-read the passage. “I think that's quite enough.”
“Ample. You have nothing more to do than sign your name to it.”
He did this, with a verificatory flourish at foot, folded and sealed the letter, and handed it to me, saying—
“If it weren't for the handwriting, Bob would never believe all that fine stuff came from me; but you 'll tell him it was after three glasses of brandy-and-water that I dashed it off—that will explain everything.”
I promised faithfully to make the required explanation, and then proceeded to make some inquiries about this brother Bob, whose nature was in such a close affinity with my own. I could learn, however, but little beyond the muttered acknowledgment that Bob was a “queer 'un,” and that there was never his equal for “falling upon good-luck, and spending it after,” a description which, when applied to my own conscience, told an amount of truth that was actually painful.
“There's no saying,” said I, as I pocketed the letter, “if this epistle should ever reach your brother's hand, my course in life is too wayward and uncertain for me to say in what corner of the earth fate may find me; but if we are to meet, you shall hear of it. Rogers”—I said, “this you extended to me, at a time that, to all seeming, I needed such attentions—at a time, I say, when none but myself could know how independently I stood as regarded means; and of one thing be assured, Rogers, he whose caprice it now is to call himself Potts, is your friend, your fast friend, for life.”
He wrung my hand cordially—perhaps it was the easiest way for an honest sailor, as he was, to acknowledge the patronising tone of my speech—but I could plainly see that he was sorely puzzled by the situation, and possibly very well pleased that there was no third party to be a spectator of it.
“Throw